Dying Days
by romatomate
Summary: Can you really die from a broken heart? Perhaps the struggles of old age are simply made worse when one is alone... -FrUk-
1. Chapter 1

"Dad. Dad," Matthew called back his 72 year old father, Arthur, from where his mind had drifted once again.

"Hmm?" Arthur looked over and for a moment Matthew could see the intense longing in his fathers eyes. Age had not been Arthur's friend, his face was strongly wrinkled and his hair was grey with patches of white, but in the few months following Francis' death, it seemed that years had been added to the old mans life.

* * *

"Were you even listening?" Alfred asked, putting his hand on his fathers. He waited but Arthur did not respond. "As we were saying, Matt and I... We think you..." Alfred sighed, "We think you should be moved into assisted living."

Arthur pulled back his hand and stood quickly, slamming his hands onto the table in what seemed like anger, but was more for balance. "I am not some old loon who needs to be watched every moment of everyday! I'm fine."

"Dad," Matthew coaxed, "Please sit down." Arthur returned to his seat and folded his arms, glaring at the boys he had raised.

Alfred leaned back in his seat and ran his hand through his hair, something he had picked up from Francis as a kid. "You _were_ fine, but since Papa died you, you haven't been the same." Arthur tsked, and looked into the living room from his seat in the kitchen. He saw Alfred's wife, Isabelle, playing with their daughter, his granddaughter, Alice. She had Alfred's blue eyes and stubbornness, but her mothers beauty and hair so blonde it seemed bleached, also from her mother.

"I don't need to be babied. I'm fine on my own." Arthur muttered, more to himself than to the boys.

Matthew leaned his head onto his hand, "Dad, please, we know you fell last week an-"

Arthur stopped him short, "Who told you?"

"Ludwig, dad listen to-"

"I knew I shouldn't have asked for a ride from them..." The fight was leaving Arthur, and weariness was taking it's place.

Alfred stood up and began to pace the room, "Dad, just listen to us for once!" He spoke harsher and louder than he had intended and now all eyes in the house were on him. Even the cats were glancing in his direction. Alfred spoke much quieter and calmer, "We just want whats best for you. Please, can you just trust us." Alfred sat back down, defeated. "We're just, worried about you. You're all we have left."

Arthur refused to look his sons in the eyes, "I... I'll think about it. Right now I just want to rest. It was nice having you boys here today."

Alfred stood up with a sigh and went over to his family. Matthew sat, watching his father carefully. Despite the fact that the boys were adopted they seemed to have taken traits directly from their fathers. Matthew was rather keen at reading other's emotions, something Francis had done with ease. Perhaps it was his quietness that gave him such skill.

Finally he spoke, "Dad, I just want you to know that we love you a lot. We just, we worry."

"I know," Arthur said, "I love you both too. I appreciate you both coming by today and talking to me about this." He looked up with a tiered smile, "I'm just old is all."

Alfred and Matthew had left around four, and so Arthur was alone, slowly walking about his house in a kind of daze. In the hall way near his bedroom there was a fist sized dent it the wall. He remembered how Alfred and Matthew had got in a horrible fist fight during their teens and the Matthew had shoved Alfred into the wall. Francis cried out in horror when he saw it, but they had never gotten it fixed. As Arthur ran his hand over the spot he felt glad they never got to it.

Arthur entered his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. There was a frame with a picture of him and Francis on their wedding day on the dresser. Next to it was a red ribbon, Francis'. Arthur picked it up and rubbed it softly between his fingers. He felt something wet land on his hand. Once, then again, and yet again. He sniffed as he realized he was crying. "I'm sorry," he whispered to no one, "I tried really hard love, but it's so difficult. We always thought I'd be the first to go, what with the smoking and all." He coughed and wiped his eyes, "I guess we were wrong then, huh?" No response. "I know, I know I've got to be strong, I just, I miss you. You were the strong one, I was just pretending." Arthur coughed again, violently. He lied down on the bed with the ribbon still in his hands. "I'm just so tiered..." He sighed and closed his eyes, still crying softly. "I love you."

Arthur Kirkland-Bonnefoy fell asleep, and never woke up again.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur Kirkland-Bonnefoy went to sleep and never woke up again.

Or did he?

Arthur felt himself being shook, and he turned away, happy to be resting.

"A... Arth... Arthur... Wake up Arthur." A familiar voice called. Annoyed that he was being ignored, the other man slapped the Brit hard across the face.

* * *

Arthur shot up like a bullet, startled and angry, "Wha- Who-"

"Good morning, Mon Cheri." Francis smiled at his husband of nearly 50 years, but looking as young as he had been the day they married, 26. Arthur stared at him speechless, and his stomach churned. This man looked and sounded like Francis, but he had an unnatural glow around him. Despite the slight fear Arthur had that this was not his lover, he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around the other, burying his face into Francis' neck. "You look so young, Arthur. I guess I do too though..." Francis smiled and embraced the Brit.

Arthur felt the embrace but no warmth from the other, slowly, reluctantly, letting go. "This... I'm dreaming, am I not?" Francis shook his head and Arthur's eyes grew wide, "But... you're dead... and I..." Arthur looked down now and saw that he was sitting inside of a person, though the person. He quickly shuffled to the other side of the bed and realized he had been sitting in his own body. However, now, it seemed strange, lifeless. Arthur leaned forward to try and touch his own cheek, but Francis gently grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

"Love you are-"

"Dead..." Arthur finished, soundlessly, still staring at his dead body. "The boys. I was supposed to talk to them. They wanted me to go into a home."

Francis nodded, "I know, I was there. I was always there, waiting for you. Protecting you. But I could not protect you from yourself. You gave up, and it hurt me to watch, love."

Arthur looked at Francis, and began to fully understand the situation. "So do we... stay here? Do we watch the boys? Keep them safe?"

Francis smiled and shook his head, "I was watching them too, they will be fine. Now that you are here I can finally leave this realm. We can leave together."

"Where will we go?"

Francis pointed at the bedroom door, which was glowing softly, "There, I think." Arthur got off the bed and approached the door, holding out his hand for his partner.

"Well," he asked the Frenchman as their fingers intertwined, "What are we waiting for?" He gave Francis a light kiss on the cheek then they opened the door and walked through.

* * *

 **Author's note: Someone requested I do another part with the boys. I hadn't even thought of that! I will be sure to start on it right away!**


End file.
